Fireworks
by Mandi1
Summary: Over fifteen years after she left, Charlie and Renée are reunited for one afternoon on the streets of Seattle, an afternoon that could either prove a new beginning or a final end.


_**This fic was written for THE GAZEBO FIC CHALLENGE: The Essence of Charlie Swan  
Prompt used: Charlie & Renee**_

_**Please see the C2 - THE GAZEBO FIC CHALLENGE: The Essence of Charlie Swan for more fics in this competition.**_

* * *

He had only been in town to drop off some too-important files he wasn't about to trust any of the boys at the station with, and he sure as hell wasn't about to send it through that busted piece-of-shit fax machine. Who knows where it'd end up if he tried to use the dinosaur. And so, he headed to Seattle himself, glad to take a little vacation, even if it meant doing a bit of business too. Warren, the chief of police, wasn't around when Charlie came by the station, but the clerk had said he'd return in an hour at the end of his shift, time long enough to take a stroll and grab a bite to eat before catching his old buddy. He figured he and Warren could grab a beer or two and play a round of pool like the old days before Charlie had to head back to Forks and his empty house.

The house was even emptier since his daughter had stopped visiting. Bella had begun to refuse the annual trips a few years back and now, as she got closer to her seventeenth birthday, he worried more and more that he was going to lose her for good soon. Just the way he'd lost her mother. But he couldn't think about that. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and started out on his walk.

He let his mind wander as he wandered, skipping here and there but always returning back to his family. He had just spent another couple of weeks in California with Bella before sending her back again to Phoenix. The girl was growing up way too fast. Soon enough, she'd be legal and then…well, Charlie would be damn glad then that he had a gun and a badge. Bella was getting to be real pretty, just like her mother was. It was funny to look at the girl and see a mixture of his face with Renée's. Most of his daughter's features had come from Renée – thank God. He didn't need to curse another Swan with the infamous crooked nose.

No, Bella's nose was straight as an arrow, just like Renée's. She had her father's deep brown eyes to be sure, but everything else came from the woman he had once called his wife. Renée had been the most beautiful girl in school – at least in his eyes. She was tall and slim with big, expressive blue eyes and thick brown hair he had constantly wanted to run his hands through, and did. She used to joke she'd go bald if he kept wrapping strands of it around his fingers. But he'd just laugh and lean in and kiss those full pink lips until she was quiet again (a rarity in and of itself).

He had been dreaming of those lips so much lately that he seemed to be comparing every woman's he met with them, even the scant dates he went on. They were either too thin or too dark or too many other things. Even girls on the streets were giving him weird looks when he stared at their mouths on the street. Like that girl, there, the blonde with the shopping bags; her lips were gorgeous, to be sure, but much too painted, and the top didn't have that deep curve Renée's did. Her friend's were way too pale and pinched – grandma lips. That brunette across the street though…her's were perfect. Almost exactly like…

"Renée."

The word left his mouth before he could stop himself. His ex-wife was standing here, in the flesh, in Seattle, right across the street from him. And of course, as soon as his big mouth said her name, she whipped her head to the left, staring right at him with shock all over those incredible blue eyes.

"Charlie," she murmured, her voice filled with surprise.

"What are you doing here?" The question came from both of them at the same time and Charlie felt his ears begin to turn red.

"I, uh, I have some business in town with Warren," he offered lamely. "You remember Warren Yowley? He's chief of police here."

"Oh." She nodded. Her hair was different, a short sleek cut that ended just at the spot on her neck he had so loved to –

She was speaking and he had only caught half of her words, and half of those were lost while he stared at those perfect lips.

"…she's my cousin, so I figured I have to at least go to the wedding if she's going to make me the maid of honor."

"And Bella? Is she here too?" he asked.

Renée shook her head. "No, she's home with…she decided to stay in Phoenix."

"Ah." Charlie made a frown, but inside a spark had been lit. Maybe this was his chance. He was here, Renée was here, they were alone, and she was lovely. He straightened up a bit, thrust his chest out and sucked in his abs, making sure the gun and cuffs on his hip were in her line of vision; Renée had always had a thing for a man in uniform.

"So when's your cousin's wedding?" he asked, pitching his voice a little lower than usual, hoping to sound sexier and just coming off as slightly hoarse.

"Tomorrow morning. Didn't you hear me tell you?" A hint of a smile was on her lips and it was all he could do from kissing her then and there.

"Sorry, I, uh, I must've heard wrong." He stuck a finder in his ear as if to clean it out – probably something he needed to do anyways, just not on the street and not in front of the woman he obviously still had feelings for. "So, what are you up to tonight then?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not much. Eating in the hotel. Ordering a movie on the TV, maybe."

Charlie reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous tick he prayed she wouldn't remember. "Maybe, uh…you could let me take you out to dinner."

"Oh, Charlie, I don't know…" She sounded unsure. His stomach tensed up nervously and he dropped his hand from his neck, aching to reach out for hers.

"C'mon, Renée, it's just dinner," he said, trying to sound smoothly casual. No use scaring her away when she already seemed so jumpy.

But Charlie's attempts at being cool came to a crashing halt when Renée spoke next. Those perfect pink lips moved and the sound echoed in his head like from a mountaintop.

"Charlie…I'm getting married."

_I'm getting married._

_Getting married._

_Married._

_Married._

Renée. Getting married. Again. To someone else. It was like someone had given him a quick sock right to the gut. He felt dizzy. Felt like he might vomit or pass out or something. But he had to keep his cool, at least in front of her. He had to be a man. He could collapse later, in private.

"Married?" he managed to repeat, his voice gruff and monotone.

She nodded gently, her dark brown bob just barely brushing her shoulders. "I mean, at least I think. We've talked about it."

"We?" Good God, what was with these one-word questions? He sounded like a blabbering fool.

"Phil and I," she explained. "His name is Phil. He's a baseball player."

He held back a sarcastic snort. Just like Renée to go after some idiot jock.

But no. Not like Renée. Not like _his_ Renée. The Renée who had been carefree and happy and independent and who had spun in…and out…of his life like some beautiful whirlwind. And here she was again. And here she was again whirling out of his life.

"I, uh…I'm happy for you," he managed to blabber, lying straight through his teeth.

Renée's answering smile was almost enough to make him smile too, but not quite. "Er, thanks, Charlie."

He nodded, grunting noncommittally.

"Maybe…maybe we could make time for a drink?" she suggested, but he couldn't tell if she was being placating or truly wanted to go. He took a moment to look into her eyes, nearly getting lost in them for the millionth time in three minutes, then felt his head nodding, almost like he was a puppet and couldn't control it. Or maybe he really was controlling it, but was just kind of being an absolute fucking idiot falling for her yet again.

Either way, the puppet game continued as he walked his way to the nearest bar, opening the door for her like always and, like always, placing his hand on the small of her back as he led her in. He knew it was wrong. He knew in some way it would get him in trouble; either she'd fall for him again and they'd be fucked, or they'd have some crazy one night thing and her potential marriage would be fucked, or he'd just go crazy for her like always and be completely broken and then _he'd_ be fucked. But even so, he kept his hand there at the junction of her back and hip and sinfully delicious backside, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt for a moment longer than necessary as he followed her into the bar.

She picked a table in a far corner, as if she didn't want to be seen with him. He couldn't blame her; he had put on a few pounds since they divorced. He'd gotten grayer too, though his hair had stayed just as thick, something he was very proud of. A quick glance in the mirror behind the bar affirmed that his hair was dark, his uniform was clean, and she was beautiful. He ordered a beer for himself and a Mai Tai for Renée (the same drink of choice she had during their youth) and twiddled his thumbs while they waited.

"So," Renée said, and he could tell it was to break the silence, "how's work?"

"Work's good," he answered. "Nothing much going on. I was dropping some files off and I was, uh…gonna head back and see Warren, but he'll be just fine, I guess."

She pursed her lips nervously. "If you need to go…"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm…I'm glad to see you. It's good to see you."

Jesus, did he have to sound like such an idiot?

"So, um, how's Bella?" he asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

Renée sipped at her drink and smiled, a dazzling smile that lit her face up. "She's wonderful. Really doing well at school. Keeping to herself, mostly, but you know Bella."

"Yeah, I know." He smiled too, in a proud, fatherly way, but then frowned slightly. "How's she taking to the idea of you and…you know."

Renée turned her glass around in her hands, staring at the liquid. "She likes Phil. They get along really well."

"And she's gonna, ah…live with you two?"

"Until she goes to school, I guess."

Something about the idea of Renée living alone with that man set his stomach turning. "Well, she doesn't _have_ to go to school."

"I want her to go, Charlie. I want her to have bigger chances than I did."

The words were like a knife in his heart. No, like twisting the knife that was already there, the one that had been there for the near-sixteen years she had been gone. The pain he felt must have reflected on his face, because the next thing she did was put her hand on his arm and say she hadn't meant it like that. His fingertips were so close to hers, _so close_. He could almost grip her hand in his.

"We had something good, for a while," he heard her say, her voice ringing in his ears. "It just…"

"Wasn't good enough," he finished, trying desperately to keep the bitter tones out of his voice.

"Wasn't good for always," she corrected. "I loved you. You knew that. In some ways…in some ways, I still do. Always will."

He looked up, his eyes more than slightly disbelieving.

"You gave me Bella," she said, her fingers doing the seeking and reaching out for his. "You gave me the best gift I've ever gotten and…well, you made me grow up a little. And heaven knows I needed to do that. Still do, sometimes."

They both smiled wryly then, a shared secret between them.

"We _were_ good, weren't we?" Charlie mused, rubbing his fingertips against hers, feeling the way her smooth flesh moved under the rough pads of his hand.

Renée grinned. "Very good. It was like fireworks, the start of it all."

Fireworks. A helluva way to describe them. Beautiful. Bright. Dazzling. Quick. Fading. Leaving a smoke trail in the sky and scorch mark that wouldn't disappear.

"You remember the ones we saw in Vegas?"

"Hmm?" He had to take a second to realize what she was talking about.

"The fireworks, Charlie, remember?" She grinned and poked a slender finger into his side.

Oh, did he remember…she had been lying naked and spent beneath him on a cheap hotel mattress, her skin flushed and glistening all at the same time. He had yet to pull out when she turned her head to the open curtains and smiled. "_Look_," she had said, nodding to the window. "_Fireworks. Just for us, Officer Swan_." He had leaned down to kiss her neck, called her Mrs. Swan, and said something perverted about fireworks yet to come. Little did he know…

"Yeah, I remember," he replied simply.

"The fireworks…and the drive back. And, oh god, telling your parents…"

They began exchanging do-you-remembers, sticking to safe, happy ones, smiles lighting up their faces.

"…that awful anniversary dinner…"

"…and you fell _right_ in the water…"

"…such bright yellow paint…"

"…you looked so tired but so happy…"

"…and she had your eyes."

Renée smiled at him so much with that last one, her eyes glowing with past memories that it was too much. She was so beautiful and so close and so almost like the old Renée, _his_ Renée that he couldn't stop his hand from moving up to touch her cheek, smoothing down the satiny skin until her chin was in his hand and he could guide her face just so…

She didn't stop him. That was one of the main thoughts running through his mind when his lips met hers. The thought that she didn't stop him, that she _let_ him kiss her – as well as the thought that holy _fuck_, how much he had missed this. Just like his, her lips were soft and gentle under his, caressing back at his mouth slightly, hesitantly, like she couldn't believe this was happening. She breathed out ever so softly against him, smelling of oranges and rum, and he opened his mouth, praying to get a taste.

Again, she didn't stop him. His tongue slid effortlessly into her mouth, meeting hers, the concentration of alcohol and sweetness there making his head spin. But her hands were there, gripping his shoulders in a desperate way that brought him back down to earth and made his own hands snake around her waist, pulling her warm body close to his as her lips got stronger and her tongue more insistent and –

It was over as soon as it had begun. Renée bounded back from him, her face a horrible mixture of shock and guilt that made Charlie freeze in his chair and feel just as shameful as she looked. Was it really so terrible being with him that she had to give him that look? Did he really make her feel that way?

"I…I can't," she sputtered, her hands clenching and unclenching nervously. "Phil and…we…I…I can't. You understand?"

Somehow he found the strength, though his voice was hoarse. "Yeah. I understand."

He wasn't sure if he ever really would, but he still said it, thinking all the while that the flush his kiss had given her made her look absolutely beautiful. A horrible thought, probably, but it seemed he couldn't help where his mind…and hands and lips and tongue…were going these days.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she murmured. "So sorry."

It was the apology he had never gotten sixteen years ago. He wasn't even sure he wanted it now. He wasn't sure he wanted that upset, pained look she was giving him either, or the small pale hand she pressed to his cheek just before giving him one last look and leaving. Funny how that look had blazed so much within him. And funny how that spot on his cheek had burned too, burned white hot before sizzling out like a firework touched by rain.


End file.
